


X

by aryastarkstits



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Choking, F/M, Finger Sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryastarkstits/pseuds/aryastarkstits
Summary: Lady Arya's eyes, grey in colour to be sure, but Cat in every other aspect. The shape, the keenness, even the comely brows that gilded them were plucked straight from the memories of his youth.Best of all perhaps, she was clearly Ned Stark’s precious little girl. The secret favourite.That made his prize all the sweeter.





	X

Sansa was supplicant, so very eager to please. More Lysa than Cat. He could hardly stand to be in her presence for more than a few brief moments before her courtesies and her naïveté became too much.

Her sister, though.

Arya had a fierceness, a sharpness her elder sister sorely lacked. She was not a swooning, swanning maiden dreaming of a young knight or prince to come and guide her to the Sept and down the aisle.

And her eyes, grey in colour to be sure, but Cat in every other aspect. The shape, the keenness, even the comely brows that gilded them were plucked straight from the memories of his youth.

Best of all perhaps, she was clearly Ned Stark’s precious little girl. The secret favourite.

That made his prize all the sweeter.

* * *

As Prince Joffrey and the Lady Sansa’s wedding grew closer, Petyr took advantage of little Arya’s increased freedoms within the castle.

It was well known amongst the inhabitants of the Red Keep that Ned Stark’s younger daughter trained in water dancing with a bravo. There had been whispers for a time, consternation at the strange occurrence, and then nearly overnight the dialogue had shifted and abruptly every lord in King’s Landing wished for their daughter to train alongside Lady Arya.

Such was the fickleness of fashion.

She now trained openly, instead of locked away in the Hand’s tower and often drew a large crowd. With so much of the castle occupied with arrangements for the royal wedding, on this day in particular there was no such crowd to Petyr's delight.

Though he loathed the clothing she wore, she was a sight to behold. He would have to commission her a new wardrobe and improve the picture considerably. A few dresses in the Riverlands’ style, with slits up the side so Lady Arya could still move freely. In his mind’s eye, Petyr saw his hand sliding into the slit in the dress and finding her slit wet and warm. He clapped his hands together twice, the sound echoing in the empty courtyard.

The girl started, sword arm dropping as she spun to face him.

“You are very gifted, my lady.”

“Thank you,” Lady Arya paused. She had such lovely breasts, he admired as they strained against the boy’s tunic she wore. He imagined he could almost see the color of her nipples through the fabric. “Lord Baelish.”

He strode towards her until she was within arm’s reach. He reached out to her with one arm, slotting his fingers along her ribcage. His thumb rested just on the swell of her breast.

“Please, call me Petyr,” he cooed and let his hand inch up so his fingertip covered her nipple. Her eyes flared. _Cat._ Arya’s shoulders shifted and he caught just the ghost of smile on her parted lips.

“Lord Baelish.” Petyr pressed down his thumb against her breast. Hard. She gasped, leaning in to the painful touch. “Petyr.”

* * *

The guard tucked the proffered coins away and gave Petyr a nod, smirk coming to his lips. _Idiot._ The fool likely thought he had gleaned some salacious piece of gossip. _The Master of Coin is buggering the Hand's daughter._ Such a rumour would bring nothing but a smile to his lips.

Petyr spotted her as soon as he entered the baths. Her slim body was floating on the surface of the water, hair fanned out around her. He traced the path from the tip of her toe, up her calf to her knee and thigh and settled on the dark hair between her thighs.

Those pretty nipples jutted out of the water, the cool air having drawn them into lovely little points. He had been right on the color when he had glimpsed them in the courtyard.

Silently, his hands went to his throat, unfastening the mockingbird pin. He pinned it to the breast of her abandoned gown on the table to his right. Briefly, he considered continuing to undress, joining her in the bath and stripping her of her maidenhood.

He heaved two breaths and turned from her, exiting as unnoticed as he had entered.

* * *

The prince and his new wife sat beside the king and queen at the high table. The newly-minted, fool princess would likely wet herself in fear once the terror had her in their marriage bed. He mustered up a flash of pity for her before his thoughts returned to his little prize.

Petyr scanned the room, shrewd eyes skipping over those attendants of little importance.

He caught sight of her slipping through the doors of the great hall, grey silk sleeves flowing out behind her. Petyr sipped at his wine and then rose to follow her.

Petyr seized Lady Arya’s wrist and spun her so she was trapped against the wall. He pinned her other wrist against the stonework for good measure.

“Let go of me, Littlefinger,” Arya demanded. Cat’s austere brows were drawn tight together on her face. “They’ll notice I’m missing.” Arya swallowed, slim swan’s neck flexing with the effort. She looked down at her feet. He made to follow her gaze, but his eyes caught on his mockingbird pin which perched over her left breast. She whispered, “It’s not proper.”

“You are a lady and I am a lord. Where is the impropriety?” He forced his thumb between her teeth, laying the pad against her tongue. He thrust the digit further into her mouth, letting his short fingernail bite at the roof. Lady Arya’s tongue relaxed and wrapped around him, drawing him farther into her mouth with suction even as she gagged.

He withdrew his thumb and pinched her jaw hard so her mouth fell open. Petyr bit her pink bottom lip, dragging his teeth down her chin, past her jaw. He licked a stripe from the collar of her dress up to where his teeth had landed.

Grip iron, he dragged Arya's hand down to his crotch by the wrist. Her fingers flexed against the hardness she felt but stayed balled into a fist. She looked as nervous as a feral cat caught in the path of a starving man.

“You know that I would never lead you astray, my lady,” he said, voice so very soft. He coaxed her hand open and guided her palm along his length. Losing himself for a moment, Petyr thrust against her hand like a savage. His little lady’s mouth fell open and he took the opportunity to thrust two of his fingers into her mouth. He slid as far back as he could manage, satisfied smile coming to his lips as she choked on them, her eyes widening in fear.

Petyr pulled back a touch and then thrust forward again, fucking her mouth and letting her know he didn’t mean to kill her. Once she had calmed somewhat, he slid his fingers down into her throat and the terror returned to her eyes as she struggled to breathe.

He curled his fingers in her mouth, picturing his cock there instead, picturing his fingers in her cunt, his cock in her cunt.

He saw himself upon the iron throne and Ned Stark’s darling dark-haired daughter, her body fat with his seed, breasts heavy, his cock up her arse as all the great lords looked on.

A pretty picture indeed.


End file.
